She stood in the curve of his arm, forcing herself to smile in response to all this goodwill. As she and Andre stepped down from the rostrum, they were immediately surrounded by well-wishers offering handshakes and embraces, with one exception. Over the heads of the crowd, Ginny saw Monique standing by the wall, her face a mask of fury and disbelief.
Resolutely dismissing the image from her mind, she let Andre guide her through the throng, his hands lightly clasping her waist, pausing now and then to receive congratulations and boisterous good wishes.
At the same time, she found herself wondering wistfully how it would have been if Andre had indeed been marrying her for love.
Gaston’s announcement that the food was being served managed to divert everyone’s attention and, while plates were being filled, Ginny found Andre once more at her side.
He touched the rubies glowing round her throat, saying softly, ‘They were made for you, mignonne,’ before allowing his fingers to drift down to where the first swell of her breasts lifted above her low neckline.
‘Just as you, ma belle, were made for me.’ He bent forward, his breath fanning her ear as he whispered, ‘Sleep with me tonight, Virginie. Let me know that you belong to me.’
His face seemed strained, his gaze oddly intense. He said again, ‘Virginie...’
The swift hammer of her heart was half-joyous, half-fearful. She wanted so badly to say yes and know that, for an hour or two, he would belong to her too, lost in the exchanges of sexual pleasure. But with the added danger that she might so easily be betrayed into saying what he did not want to hear—and what must for ever remain unspoken. The words, I love you.
But as she hesitated, she heard the loud clang of a bell and saw a surprised Gaston hastening to the front door.
She saw the candles flare in the sudden draught as the door opened to admit the late arrival. Through the shifting mass of people, she saw a woman, her mass of blonde hair spilling on to her shoulders as she pulled off her woollen cap. For a moment, she thought it must be Dominique Lavaux, who had not replied to her invitation, but then, above the buzz of conversation, she heard a voice she knew all too well, announcing autocratically, ‘I’m here to see my sister, Virginia Mason. Where is she, please?’
She stood, numb with disbelief, as Cilla, in her violet quilted coat, came pushing her way through the crowd towards her. But only to walk past as if she was invisible.
‘Oh, Andre.’ There was a note of hysteria in Cilla’s voice. ‘I had to come, because everything’s just awful and I don’t know what to do.’
And with a strangled sob, she threw herself straight at Andre, burying her face in his shirt front as he caught her.
For a moment there was total, astonished silence. Then Jules appeared from nowhere with a chair. He detached the weeping girl from Andre with cool authority, made her sit, and when his aunt arrived with brandy, encouraged her firmly to drink.
It occurred to Ginny, suddenly transformed into helpless bystander, that this was one party no one would forget in a hurry. Least of all herself.
She stepped forward into the breach. Raising her voice, she said in her clear schoolgirl French, ‘Madame Rameau, would you have the goodness to prepare a room for my sister. She has had a long and tiresome journey and needs rest.’
Madame gave the drooping beauty an old-fashioned look, but nodded and bustled off.
Ginny walked over to the chair and put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. ‘Has Mother come with you? Is she waiting somewhere?’
‘Mother?’ Cilla reared up, nearly spilling what was left of the brandy. ‘You must be joking. She’s turned me out and won’t even speak to me—not since Jon broke off our engagement. Why else would I be here?’
Why indeed? thought Ginny. Conscious of the eyes and ears around them and Baron Bertrand’s shocked face, she said, ‘We’ll talk about this later. Why don’t I take you upstairs to freshen up in my bathroom?’
‘Your bathroom?’ Cilla seemed to focus on her for the first time, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the rubies. ‘What’s going on here? What’s the celebration?’
Ginny kept her voice steady. ‘Among other things, my engagement to Andre.’
‘Engagement,’ Cilla repeated. Her laugh was breathless as she looked back at Andre, who was standing stony-faced, his arms folded. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘Au contraire, madame.’ It was Jules who spoke. ‘The marriage of our future Baron is a serious affair, but also a time of great happiness for the Château Terauze.’
Cilla got to her feet. ‘But I thought,’ she began, then paused, swaying slightly, a hand to her head, as she whispered, ‘Andre...’